Tempting Gravity
by Vathara
Summary: To create a Mach 2 helicopter in the World of Darkness, something extra must be added... WoD, White Wolf crossover.


**Tempting Gravity**

A/N: If you recognize something here, I don't own it; particularly, Airwolf, Kindred: the Embraced, Hengeyokai, or anything from White Wolf's World of Darkness. Caveat to the reader - while K:tE took a lot from White Wolf's Vampire: the Masquerade, they modified it heavily to fit the TV show. So _anything_ from the World of Darkness will likewise be fiddled with.

-----------

_Catch me._

_Try to catch me._

I tumble through desert storm and wind, laughing. Part of storm, part of wind, delighting in the creation and destruction of dust and lightning and rain that will never touch the ground. Wyrm, Weaver, Wyld - here the balance is as it should be, creation and order and chaos and destruction woven together as one. I let myself fall in gravity's hold, then laugh and slip away from it; I am ever the wildest of winds, and nothing so frail can chain me-

_Pain._

_Electric shock._

_Tang of metal and magic._

Something seizes me from the heart of the storm, and _now_ flees my grip like sand.

-----------

I lick my wounds, huddled in sparks and metal.

"…Not quite what I intended to catch, but you'll do…."

I bare spirit-fangs at the _chi'n ta,_ the Lightning Person who has cut and burned and savaged my _self_ to snare me in a Weaver-web of wires and ceramics. It is not even _his_ web. Oh, parts of it are his, yes; Name-twistings called _programs_ and _systems architecture_. But the rest? The lean shark-shape of steel and created substances that carries touches of pride and confidence and even hope? Like any Namebreaker, this _Moffet_ has stolen it; though like the _chi'n ta_ of old, he has not made the theft obvious. Not yet.

"I didn't expect anyone to be working on the prototype at this hour."

Another voice. It calms the hate within me. A little. It echoes….

The _other_ touches within that which binds me.

I snarl. And to think I believed I might have found an ally….

"Archangel." The _chi'n ta_ hides a sneer. "I told you. If we want to be ready for the senator's demonstration, I need to put in a little… extra work."

"I'm sure."

The touch is a shock.

_Newtons applied, direction of pressure analyzed, microsensors lifted/lowered to reduce drag and static buildup-_

I _shiver_ under his fingertips, aware of Archangel's hand as I would be a cross-gust in the heart of a thunderstorm. The Weaver-maze - it is not just a snare! It is nerves, a spine - a way to _listen_ to the world about me. And possibly, even, to act….

A body. I have a body. Again.

Again?

Wind is never _again._ Wind is now. Wind is always now.

But I am not only Wind, now. I was Wind….

_Was._

A shock almost as great as the touch. That-which-is-not-now. I _know_ it.

_Knew_ it.

Memory is not Wind; but I am less or more than Wind now, and memory steals on me with knives of silver. There _was_ another time I was not-Wind, even if I was Wind-kin-

_Spirit-kin. _

The word stirs within me like the warning of storm. I was… other than Wind, and feared silver, once. Far and long ago from here. But that life ended, and I fled into my kin's embrace, healing pain in the _now_ of wind and storm-

And this _chi'n ta_ has dragged me back! How _dare_ he!

Archangel is gone, departing sometime in my musings. I am alone with Moffet.

Excellent.

There are tools within this metal body; I will use them-

_Pain!_

"Don't try getting past the AI, little windling." Moffet's voice is _amused_. "It won't work."

Little? _Chi'n ta,_ you are a fool-

More pain. Like lightning strikes. Over and over.

"You'll fly. You'll fight. You'll give this vessel the power to do what no helicopter created by mere Sleeper technology can." He leans closer; I feel the raw heat of his breath on sensor-studded skin. "But you will never, ever escape me."

Agony pursues me into darkness.

Yet I hold a paw-full of facts like bright moon-gems, saving me from the blow meant to crush my will utterly. I was Spirit-kin, once. I had a body - once. And now, I have one again.

And once any spirit is born into mortal substance, no matter what its maker's will, it has the chance to choose its own path.

But what in the Emerald Lady's blessed creation is a _helicopter?_

-----------

Red Star is burning.

I have learned some of the metal net that snares me, but not enough. I cannot stop Moffet and his tainted human copilot from firing. I do not even know if I want to. What are these humans to me? If they were listening to the Emerald Mother, would they not _know_ Moffet has enslaved one of Her children? Would they not _stop_ him?

But a familiar howl rises from within the tower, and I sense silken fur flux into being where a white dress had been, as one of the Silver Lady's own chosen shifts form to shield Archangel with her own body.

She could tear through the wall and escape. Easily. But she chooses to shield him - to risk her own death, rather than leave the alpha of this place unprotected.

I slash at the AI's guardians, distract them enough to place my own will in its command net: _alter the firing angle._

A breath, and I am thrown clear once more, bound again to only fly and fight.

But as Moffet turns me away, I reach out with the sensors. There is fire - but there is life.

I do not know which will win.

-----------

A rest from death, in far-off sands. I do not like it here. The wind carries no taste of those I used to play among; not the monsoons I remember of my first life, nor the gusts of ocean and desert and plain I rode as Wind. I kill and bake and freeze, and the taint of Moffet and his copilot grows ever darker.

I have become other than I was. If this continues, their taint will take me, and I will be _less_ than I was.

I would rather perish.

I… cannot.

Moffet has guarded his creation too well. I am snarled in it as fishing line, unable to cut the knot from within. I need aid.

And there is none.

The sand-winds laugh at me; twice a foreigner, dancing to a mage's tune. Why should they interfere? Infidels were born to be slaves.

The dark winds, the tainted winds - _they_ would aid. For a price.

I will not pay it. Ever.

I moan my agony to the skies, cameras taking in the glow of the Silver Lady. What outrage have I committed to be condemned so? Time has passed since I wore flesh, I sense it - have the _chi'n ta_ grown so strong that only remnants of us remain, unable to find one of their own held prisoner? Where is the strength of our people?

And for an instant, I _see_ the light, as if through mortal eyes.

_Wait,_ whispers the moonlight. _Be strong, my child, and wait._

_You are not forgotten._

-----------

Sunlight, and strange hands touch me. I could sound an alarm.

I do not.

The gray-haired stranger laughs as he plays with my lights, delighting in the station built for the flight engineer's needs and comfort. I _feel_ his laughter, washing away the shadows of taint within me, soothing the burns to my spirit.

Kinfolk. He is Kinfolk.

Is he… help?

I wait. I watch.

I am not waiting long.

Chill as a mountain night, the Kinfolk's younger partner flattens a tainted human guard, leaps in to take my controls.

He knows them. As I had thought only Moffet knew them.

_I_ do not know him, but the metal and wires around me whispers _familiar,_ whispers _was here before-_

What is a _test pilot?_

We wreak havoc on this place of sand and decadence, and fly.

The elder Kinfolk fumbles through my controls, looking for sensors; I do not hinder him. I do not _trust,_ not yet - but we have dealt harm to those who thought me a slave, and that pleases me. I do not glory in it, that way lies the Wyrm's madness, yet it is right to destroy that which should not be….

There. A mortal soul, fading in the pitiless sun.

We land, and I sense my new pilot's grief, denial, despair-

A lash of blizzard lightning.

I coil protectively on myself in my den of circuits, and realize it is _fury_.

Not mortal. Not Kinfolk. Not even the fathomless Rage of the hengeyokai, charged with the Emerald Lady's defense to their dying breaths and beyond.

_Demon-rage._

And I know what soul has nested within the flesh come to pilot me.

_Shade Walker. _

Gaki blood. Beyond a doubt. Not dark enough to be one of the repentant demons' own half-damned children - but a _grandchild,_ oh yes.

In company with a Kinfolk? The Lady's grace does seem to linger on him, shadowed as he is, but… could any hengeyokai or Kinfolk have been so blind as to keep company with those demon-touched souls?

Yet if he was at Red Star, he is likely of the West, as they are - and the Sunset People are often blind. It _could_ be….

And in that breath, I know what fate has sliced through the cord of the mortal woman's soul.

Luck runs roughly about the Shade Walkers. Even, at times, some of their less fortunate children, who miss being human by a bare shift of the Wheel and instead inherit their parent's demon-touched nature. Ill luck, ill intent, death - they _stalk_ the half-damned, taking what they can in savage rage that ki prevents them from seizing the demon-born themselves.

She was mortal. She loved him.

She was doomed.

And the stench of Moffet clings to her like poisoned incense.

_Vengeance. _

We scream into the air, knifing through defenses that cannot stop me. Could never stop me. Tanks, artillery, jeeps-

One jeep in specific.

He is cowardly and Wyrm-tainted, but Moffet is no fool. When my pilot hovers us to let the _chi'n ta_ see death coming, as is honorable, Moffet aims for my weak point. He will likely die if I die - this craft carries fuel that spreads and burns, not even a Namebreaker's magic can deny that - but he is willing to risk it.

I am not.

I touch the elderly Kinfolk within me, spirit to spirit. _You have power. Lend it to me. For us. For her. For him, whom you love as a son._

A wisp of the Silver Lady's own moonlight fills me, and I howl for joy as my summoned wind slams the bullet away.

My pilot does not allow the _chi'n ta_ a second shot.

-----------

I lair within red rock and silence, and lick the last of my wounds. They are few, now, and healing. The elder Kinfolk - Dominic Santini - knows the risk of tainted souls such as Moffet. He performed a Rite of Cleansing on us all, before we gave Gabrielle into other mortal hands to be brought back to her own home earth. My demon-touched pilot - Stringfellow Hawke - shuddered at it, but made no complaint.

So. He thinks himself only Kinfolk.

And as yet, I cannot tell him otherwise.

They do not _know_ I am here. They suspect this craft is more than metal and ceramic, but they do not know.

And for some reason, they have not brought me to the attention of a sentai. Or… pack, I think they would be called here.

Curious.

Yet even not-knowing, they have given me what I needed. Quiet. Cleansing. And a small, hidden dragon nest in this chimney of wind-shaped stone, where I may drink my fill of power and heal myself.

It is possible they are allies.

I will wait. And watch.

A jeep approaches. Frailer than the one Moffet used. And far more… colorful. Red, white, and blue; stripes and stars….

_America. _

Fact and fact slip together like sword and sheath; Red Star and Hawke and Santini Air all tied together by bits of overheard words and the odd patchwork of information in this craft's computer banks. The fine details I do not yet know, but this I can read: Moffet thieved me - this helicopter - from Red Star. My new pilots were sent to steal me back.

Yet I have not been returned, have I? Interesting….

_Archangel_ is mentioned in the sparse conversation as they make me ready. Something about a mission, and a fool of a father-

And we hover up through stone's embrace, and shriek through the skies. Up, over - and finally, skimming near ground, so the ghostly touch of radar whispers by like an errant breeze.

This craft was built to confuse such sensors, after all, but why should we make it _easy?_

_"Why can't you let these people mow their own lawns?" _

I laugh in the circuits as Dominic complains, delighting in the kiss of our blade-shaped wind over ground. _I_ will not crash.

Nor will Hawke, though the sky-road north and west is long, cold, and bitter. He loves the sky too well; a harsh, shadowy love, but all the stronger for it. No enemy could woo him from my grasp; they could only tear him from me, blood and bone, saving his last breath not for a curse, but to sink his teeth in one final throat.

I approve.

We fly, and I touch and probe, learning more of them, of the craft about me. I reach into the instruments, touching creations that measure distance traveled and time and where we are… and curiosity pricks at me.

They do not match.

_Where-we-are_ is true. I can taste the wind and water about us, match it to the GPS and my sense of the Silver Lady's presence. _When-we-are_ is… _mostly_ true. We have lost thin ribbons of time, heartbeats shaved when no one was watching.

_How-far-we-have-come_ - is lying. And yet, not.

I know the weight of fuel in the tanks, the rate of burn of our terrifying engines. They match the distance readings. But the distance does not match where we _are._ The sky-road ahead is still long - but not as long as it _should_ be.

And that lack-of-length… tugs at me. Draws on _my_ strength, rather than the engines.

"String?"

"Yeah."

"You remember those funny readin's we got heading back over the Atlantic?"

"Yeah."

"You remember I checked the computer logs of Moffet's trip to Libya, found the same freaky thing?"

"Yeah."

"You remember what I said I was gonna do to you if you didn't come up with some answers damn quick if it ever happened again?"

"Yeah."

"Well?"

"Moffet."

"That ain't an answer, String!"

"Archangel thinks he was a mage."

"Oh, the guy in the ice cream suit finally comes up with somethin' _useful_… why the heck didn't you tell me this back in Libya!"

"Didn't know."

"And you're still talking to the pine-scented wonder? He coulda got us killed, String!"

"_Archangel_ didn't know."

"An' you believe that?"

"Marella did some deep background on Moffet based on what we got from the palace. Back-trailed it to a chantry."

"Mary, mother of… what the heck did he do to this poor helicopter!"

"What do you think, Dom?"

I know what I think. The tug on my self, the wax and wane of the presence of the Silver Lady… wary joy trickles through me, like the first drops of spring thaw.

"GPS, miles, clock - can't all be right," Dom thinks out loud. "Unless they are… _madrone!_ String-" my cabin sensors strain to pick up the whisper, "-this thing's dipping into the Penumbra!"

"Think so."

"_Think so?_ String, if this helicopter's cutting our distance by skating 'cross the Gauntlet-"

"Skimming it. I think."

Like a stone across a pond, yes. Though I think I _could_ cross the Wall into the Mirror Lands. In time….

Siberia nears. The human cub we seek is hidden from most sensors. But not mine.

Dominic unleashes my scream, deafening our would-be watchers. And we _strike._

-----------

A time of peace is broken by a tremor of _knowing_.

_Dominic is in danger._

Odd, knowing this; what I remember of mortal flesh lays no claim to visions of what-was, what-would-be. But I _know_.

As Hawke knows.

_Because_ Hawke knows?

I cannot be certain. I only _know,_ as if it was dropped like pebbles in my paw. Dominic is in peril. Hawke will seek him. Whatever the cost. We will fly-

And when we do, it is all I can do not to slam storm-lightning through my pilot by way of his own systems. _Archangel?_ In Dominic's station? Someone will _pay_ for this.

But rage and fear blind, and I am the one who pays. The torn tail rotor hurts.

Archangel helps Hawke negotiate with those we land among; then helps him again, to mend me. The cost of that help, I can measure; from the way pain squints blue eyes behind glass, his injuries from Red Star still bite at him, even months later. If the data from my cameras matches my misty memories of Kinfolk healing, one knee will never be quite right again.

And he is Kinfolk. Like Dominic. Not Kinfolk-and-_other_, as Hawke is. Though the taste of Archangel's spirit through my helmets is not of Dominic's owl feathers, nor Hawke's horned-scales-in-shadow, but of storm-lightning and sparks-along-glass.

Archangel is not Hakken. But… there is something akin to _Naru-kami_, watching over whatever road his spirit follows.

_Perhaps_ he is an ally. Perhaps.

For now, we fly, and kill.

-----------

I am learning the sky-roads north quite well, these days.

Only whispers do I glean, from passing winds off the Black Current, of the home I forsook so long ago. It aches at me….

As it seems to ache at the scientist Hawke and Dominic are sent to rescue; a haunted man named Rostoff, who speaks of toxins and family and does not, cannot, see the angry _kuei_ tearing at his shadow.

_Murderer,_ I hear the hiss from the Yin World. _Traitor! Vladimir, how could you?_ We _were your home - we were your friends…._

The wraiths see this world only dimly, but they can sense Rostoff's hope of escape. Ghostly fingers reach out, meaning to work subtle mischief in my circuits.

I snap at them.

Ghostly blood drips, inky shadow in twilight. The wraiths draw back, confused. And angry.

I let them see a wolf's snarl of teeth. _Go away._

_Who- what- you dare!_

Thunder rumbles in my dark laugh. I am one of Naru-kami's children; of course I dare! _Blood is strong, but spirit is stronger. He was born within Bear, but his spirit chose Eagle. You were doomed from the moment you threatened his spirit's home. Go. Away._

_We will have our revenge!_

I snort. _Not,_ I say glacially, _while you threaten those under_ my _protection._

I am not a fool, after all. Those Garou the Westerners call Silver Fangs have strength here. Should the craft I am bound to be brought low, it is likely they would find me.

And should they find me - bound, all but helpless, and of the Hakken who have been their Russian Kinfolk's enemies across the Sea of Japan for century upon century….

Well. Far better for me if they do not. _Wait,_ I rumble. _When he leaves our company, then he is no concern of mine._

_Liar! Killer!_ Dead voices are like shadows on the sea. _You mean to bring him across the waters, with the work we died for - and we have not the strength to follow-!_

I let fangs glint in a smirk. _That,_ I observe, _is hardly my problem._

…Perhaps that was tempting fate.

For it seems Hawke is entreated not only to bring Rostoff away, but his human mate and cub as well. And even with all I have learned of our Wall-skimming, we have not the room, nor the fuel-!

Not armed.

Impossible. Unthinkable. Hawke is Kinfolk, of a tribe well acquainted with violence. More than that, he is of Gaki blood. To lay down his weapons, yielding up every advantage to his enemies simply for _human_ mercy….

I feel Hawke wrestle the darkness within him; the shadow of a shadow of a Gaki's demonic P'o. Still enough to overpower the most humane of souls, much less my pilot's bitter spirit-

I feel the thump of metal, as my missiles are unloaded. As my ammo is stripped, down to the barest remnants.

And I pray.

-----------

_Wheels, Dominic. Wheels! _

I breathe an electronic sigh of relief as Hawke's frantic gesture finally penetrates Dominic's bemused sense of _what else was I supposed to do, here?_ It's hardly my engineer's fault that he usually flies helicopters with skids, but still….

We land on the Californian road, just long enough to pick up my bruised and bloodied pilot. I note gratefully that the feeling between the two has eased; Hawke trusting Dominic with me has soothed the hurt between them. What that hurt was, I am not certain; though from a bit of Dominic's muttering, I suspect it has to do with the risky flying these two Kinfolk regularly do, and Dominic's advancing age. He's no cub, nor even a young warrior, to bounce back from the fiercest fights unharmed. Nor is Hawke - but while time weighs on him much as any mortal, the dark fire that burns in his blood keeps his reflexes sharper than even he realizes.

Not that I can tell either of them that.

Frustrating.

In the weeks since we delivered the Rostoffs to their fate in this land, I have probed more deeply into the net I am meshed in. The black helms and the flightsuit bio-sensors allow me to touch the outermost edge of my crew's spirits; to know what they feel as they feel it, so we may fight as one. To grip and hold, as we skim the Wall, flesh and spirit and steel entwined.

But I cannot speak to them.

Moffet's work, I know it.

Dominic may not have all the skills of a Mirror, but he _knows_ when spirits of nature are about. He should be able to hear me, when I reach out to him….

But all he feels is the same shadow of presence as one of his old and beloved biplanes, or restored Hueys. Which in itself intrigues him; this craft is not old enough to have gained such a sense of self to it, even the blind and formless yearnings of a human-crafted object.

Yet he thinks of it, when he thinks of it, as simply an inexplicable effect of mage power on high technology. Though he does find it interesting that the Valley of the Gods agrees with me….

He calls me _Lady_.

It soothes my frustration. A little.

There must be a way to reach them. Whatever Moffet has done, I am still a child of the Emerald Mother, and answerable to her laws. I would prefer not to harm my pilots simply because I cannot warn them not to break the Mandates….

But Hawke avoids shooting those who dropped him from the sky, only herding them away from weapons and ill-gotten gains.

So. This time, I am fortunate. But the next?

And what if Hawke's bold scheme unravels, and I am taken by the military, as only Moffet's theft prevented before?

_War not upon human nor beast. _

I _cannot_ be a weapon of war. It would damn me to the Centipede's coils forever.

What can I do?

-----------

If someone kidnaps my pilot _again,_ I am going to become cross.

And then I will feed them lead. If not a Hellfire.

I have been _waiting_ in the Lair, enduring Dominic's worry and anger and fear, searching with every sensor and sense remaining to me for any clue where my dark one is, and finding nothing. At all.

And then, in the space of one day, I am snatched from my Lair, loaded at gunpoint onto a plane that stinks of darkness and greed, trapped in the same hold with a fluttery human spirit that fears Hawke even as she is drawn to him, and then-

Most seriously annoyed by my pilot.

He dumped me out of an airplane.

True, he dumped himself as well, with Dominic and that annoying human female healer in the bargain - but he let me _fall_ out of a _cargo plane!_

If I were not relieved to see him in one cranky piece, I would shock him.

As it is, we are all in one piece. And I have destroyed the plane, which satisfies me.

But the nurse survived it all.

Were I embodied, I would growl.

Hawke is Kinfolk, after all - Gaki blood or no. He should breed with another of hengeyokai blood. Shifter or Kinfolk I do not care, but a human would _not_ be appropriate.

Besides. It would be a rare human who could survive Hawke's shadowy joss long enough to bear a child. And that would break his heart. Again.

The considering look in Dominic's eyes gives me relief. He may not know Hawke's true heritage, but he knows people. This human will be a passing fancy, no more.

Good.

For if Hawke does not yield this nurse up, I will play with the cabin pressure until the headaches finally clue him in that I am _Not Happy_.

-----------

I purr, as guns are drawn, threats are made, and the dark-haired Kinfolk woman strides through my Lair to face Hawke eye to angry eye. Wits enough to find my Lair, spirit-favor enough to see me in the heart of my power, courage enough to face Hawke's fury - now _this_ is a female far more fit to court him.

Which is fortunate for Hawke, given that otherwise I would risk the AI's guardians long enough to slam doors on his fingers. Almost drop _me_ out of space, will he? The suicidal _fool-!_

No. It's not the depression wolf-kin are prone to that has him in its thrall; nor even the dark, destructive urgings of his P'o. It is, I sense, a very human grief, of a soul stretched to its limits and beyond. He may have laughed with Dominic after the kidnapping was over, but to believe his brother was returned, then find it all a lie….

And a lie meant to gain me, in the bargain.

No wonder he pushed this craft far beyond its operational parameters, soaring to the edge of space, even though he _knew_ he might lose control at the crest.

_Did_ lose control. Had Dominic not been there… had I not been able to draw on his presence to bolster my own bound powers….

There is wind, even where the sky turns black and the stars blaze free. Thin stuff, more of particles and energy than the moving air I am most kin to - yet it _is_ Wind. Of a sort. Second cousin, rather than a sister.

Close enough, when I bared my grief and cried for succor.

The lightest of tugs, to counterbalance gravity's tentacles. A slight steadying, when aerodynamics failed.

Even so, had Hawke not been a finer pilot than any this metal remembers… two hundred feet is _too close_.

Life. He needs life, and hope, to fight the darkness.

And even with hands spread wide in the darkness of my Lair, submitting to Dominic's hesitant search, this woman _blazes_ with life.

Sarah Lebow, she names herself. Kinfolk, she does not mention - she may not even know. Though _I_ know.

_Silent Strider. _

Kin of the Sunset People of the Middle East, who have fought for their lives and sanity against the vampires who lurk in every shadow… and against each other. Though the vengeance she claims reaches back to the heart of Europe, to history I know only through Archangel's databases, which speak of an extinction of souls as vile as any War of Shame.

She wants this Nazi Kruger's life.

And why should she not? _Do not rest under the same heavens as the killer of your father,_ my people once believed. I favor it still.

Hawke has no interest in another's vengeance. Or so he claims. The shadow in him speaks otherwise, seeking any opportunity to take a life without shame-

Which may be why he stomps the impulse so ruthlessly. He could not have survived so well among humans and Kinfolk as he has, if he let the P'o's impulses rule him.

Still. The threat of her knowledge is real, and her offer to trade information on Hawke's lost brother for his aid is sincere.

I am not surprised to find us taking the winds southward.

Though to spotlight Archangel - that _is_ a shock.

_"I can't shoot Archangel."_

So. Gaki blood has not killed all the pack instincts within him. If anything, it may have sharpened them; Hawke's swift retreat is far more in keeping with a pack second who has crossed an honored rival than a Kinfolk who disagrees with a fellow tribesman.

And with that, I know Sarah will be gracefully escorted from his life, so soon as her vengeance is concluded. For no matter what plan Archangel has concocted that requires him to protect Kruger - and he _has_ one, no child of Thunder would present himself as an ally to such a dark one without need - the fact that Sarah would shatter it will ever be a wall between her and Hawke.

Ah well. If matchmaking for our Kinfolk were easy, we hengeyokai would not be so few, would we?

Kruger does not worry me, advanced missile system or no. Let him use this _Thor_ against me, if he will. I was Spirit-Kin, and Hakken, and samurai. Death is an old friend. And if I meet her again tomorrow, or simply nod and smile as Kruger howls in her embrace….

Tonight I meditate, and the moon shines down like benediction.

-----------

More missions flow into the past. I learn of my crews' faults and blessings, humor and bitter anger. The Caribbean and Africa, we touch briefly. Too long, in my opinion - the Dark Continent is no place for a sane child of wolf blood!

But though even I fear what runs the savanna's nights, I am intrigued to finally overhear enough to put some pieces together.

Hawke seeks his elder brother, St. John. A full Garou, it would seem, of the tribe Sunset People call Uktena.

My memories of the past are scattered, but I do know of that tribe. Ainu Kinfolk are among them, and some of the Korean Peninsula, and others I likely do not know. So they are strong in North America as well? Interesting.

But if St. John is full Garou….

He _cannot_ be Hawke's brother.

Gaki blood is jealous of its power, _Yomi_-born as it is. Even weakened as it is in Hawke, it is powerful enough to deny the Emerald Mother the soul-grip She must have to create a hengeyokai. Kinfolk Hawke is, human he might have been - but shape-shifter he could never be.

A puzzle. Or - perhaps not. Some of what Dominic relates in passing hints that Sunset People, too, may keep more than one mate from time to time. If Stringfellow Hawke's mother was a Shade Walker, and St. John's was not - it would explain much.

Perhaps, even, why St. John is missing now.

It is an intuition, more than fact and fact meshed into inescapable net, but I think it true. Uktena, it seems, are not averse to mates of Asian descent. And to one who did not know its true demonic nature, a Shade Walker's dark temper might easily be mistaken for the wolf-blood of a Kinfolk.

But Gaki _do not_ get children casually….

And they would not allow one of their own blood to be whisked away, never to know his hell-touched heritage.

I could be wrong. There are many powers in this world that can make even the strongest hengeyokai vanish without a trace. Yet that Hawke and St. John both ventured into Vietnam, where flesh-crafting Wan Kuei hold courts wreathed in a madness the Gaki never know, and a _Garou_ was taken while a _Kinfolk_ survived-

It could have been luck. Hawke's own shadowed joss.

Yet to me, it tastes of Vengeance.

_Justice,_ the Wan Kuei would call it, grinning with bloodstained maws. _Following the Will of Heaven._

Perhaps. Though how can it be Heaven's Will to deal out punishment to the ignorant, and leave them no way to mend their flaws?

Then again, if it _had_ been done for vengeance - against their fool of a father, or possibly even against the Gaki whose blood Hawke bears, the Wan Kuei do not love one another - why was Hawke allowed to fly free?

Of course, I could be wrong.

…And the Kamo could run backwards tomorrow, who knows?

But if Hawke means to hold me until Archangel finds his errant brother, he may have a very long wait.

-----------

If Archangel nears me again soon, I will roll onto his toes. That _catastrophe_ with Winchester, when Hawke and I were nearly destroyed by an errant, computer-guided machine, and I held my breath as a dying soul decided whether or not to haunt me….

I could have handled an angry ghost, of course. But the repercussions of shredding a human soul are not sought lightly.

Still. Now Archangel claims to protect us, giving Hawke the track of Bogard's satellite?

He confuses me. And I do not like confusion.

Dominic is little help, chuckling softly as he contemplates biplane pilot Antonia Donatelli. I cannot fault him for his interest; what I can scent of her aura through him and Hawke vibrates with life, and joy, and possibly even the blood of Kinfolk.

Well. At least _someone_ is happy.

Hawke is not. But he has a plan….

No! This is not a well-thought plan! Not even a delaying tactic! This is a _very bad idea!_

…But he cannot hear me, and I am left under the wing of an abandoned cargo plane, in the midst of an aircraft boneyard.

I hide within Airwolf's metal and ceramic shell, shivering in the nest of circuits. Planes abandoned for decades; helicopters left in this dry, sterile place until orders from Washington bring resurrection or destruction. I _do not_ want to draw the attention of the spirits here….

And when Hawke comes back, I _will_ bite him.

-----------

Ah. Explosions.

Far, _far_ better than the boneyard.

Not that Hawke thinks so, startling as I slam his visor down, protecting his vision as we fly through the metal hail of a B-52 saturation bombing. He has narrowed his concentration to the finest of points, cutting through _now_ like a diamond knife. The P'o gibbers fear at him, anger, the seething need for revenge-

He chains it all, riding the darkness ruthlessly to win through to open air. Never certain, one breath to the next, which will be his last.

Good. Let him sweat.

It's only fair.

We leave Bogard behind in a cloud of shrapnel and dust, to Archangel's tender mercies.

Thinking on that, I laugh. For a very long time.

-----------

Bored. Bored, bored, bored….

Two months with, as Dominic would say, no white ladies following us, no government agents after us, nobody shooting at us.

I am _so_ bored.

Oh, Hawke and Dominic have both come out furtively to maintain my helicopter shell, check my sensor readings, and whisper soft thanks to the Mother that has preserved us all this long. But I long for the air.

…And then, finally, I hear the rumble of a star-spangled jeep. Not leisurely, as a maintenance trip would be. But swift and sure, and loaded down with more than the usual gear.

I hum approval, and grin with metal teeth.

-----------

_UFO,_ I smirk in my circuits later, thinking of the pickup full of evil men we've blown off a road. _Oh, if you only knew…._

_Can we do it again? Please? _

Ah, well. Camping for the night with Dominic isn't so bad. He's company, and the wind flows free around me - well, free as it can, given the camouflage net. And given Bogard is likely not the last man of ill intent looking for Airwolf, I've no complaints about the net.

The program block, yes; that, I loathe. For my mikes pick up some rather disturbing noises through the night. Sounds I've heard before, in another place I did _not_ like. Sounds that I would say should not be here… yet they are. And as morning breaks, and my engineer prepares to face the day, I hear them again. And I cannot warn Dominic.

At least, when the lions come, all he loses is his coffee.

-----------

I yawn as Dominic sweats, his gun aimed out the window in fearful fascination. I may not have ever met the beast-born offspring of the Dark Continent in flesh and fur, but there were Khan enough in the Courts I knew. No Cat can be patient forever. All we have to do is wait.

But Hawke does not have time.

Drawing on the Silver Lady's power within him, Dominic invokes a whispered chant. Gradually, his scent increases, taking on the smoke and fire and threat that is _Man_.

It dampens the lions' interest. But they are predators, and intelligent; they know well enough food _is_ still here.

Hmm….

Silently, I bring up the broadcast mike, and highlight a certain menu.

I am quiet and subtle enough, just barely. Moffet's watchdog in the computer snarls, but leaves me be.

The subtle blinking catches Dominic's eye. He frowns; he is an engineer, and no one who maintains aircraft loves unexplained events….

And then inspiration strikes him, swift as Thunder's own blessing. His eyes crinkle in glee as he grins.

I chuckle myself, even as I wince at the sounds Dominic sends squealing from my mike. Kinfolk ears can't hear them, but my sensors certainly can….

As can the annoyed and horrified lions, who flee the ear-splitting ultrasonics with unseemly haste.

"How'd you get the net off?" a bruised and bloodied Hawke wonders when we catch him.

"Never you mind!"

-----------

_"Lord in Heaven…."_

An awed voice over the helmet radio; a brief glimpse of brave eyes on the road in starlight, and strawberry blonde hair gleaming in pitiless sun. A determination to _live_ that has kept her intact in evil hands, and spurred her into the air to follow us.

I do not yet know this Caitlin O'Shaughnessy, but I think I could grow to like her.

After all, anyone stubborn enough to try to convince _Hawke_ to wait for the authorities just might be able to handle my crew.

My pack.

A small thing, even by the standards of the weakened Beast Courts that still exist. Two Kinfolk, one chained spirit, and another white-clad Kinfolk who may never clearly say if he is ally or enemy. Even together, we cannot match the numbers of a full sentai.

Not yet.

_"There's a Yellow Rose in Texas, that I am going to see…."_

I blink spirit-eyes, startled. Well. Dominic thinks this Caitlin might be a match for Hawke? Dominic's _never_ thought any of our chance-met females were proper for Hawke before.

And given one born to take wolf-shape would have left that jail in - well, _somewhat_ more pieces than I did….

Kinfolk. It fits the slight taste of her aura I had through Hawke. Such a _bright_ spirit. Full of hope, even as it was tempered with practicality.

I can feel Dom hoping, and plotting, and grin.

Though my interest is tempered by sober judgement. Marella seems more interested in Archangel than in any liaison with Hawke, but if she or another Garou female chose my pilot to sire their cubs….

They would expect a Kinfolk lover to step aside.

And they would not be averse to using force, if she refused.

They might be surprised, should they use such tactics on Caitlin. A timid soul would never have survived our enemies.

And… all of this may come to naught, in any event. Hawke has left thin clues for Caitlin to follow. The human wind of law might yet blow them from her grasp, and leave her ever safe from confronting the Sunset People. The Garou, who would call her coward and ungrateful, and even, perhaps, Wyrm-tainted, did she simply cleave to her chosen mate as our kind believes is right.

Ruthless fools. They think they know Wyrm's children? I _am_ Wyrm's child, and Weaver's, and ever the Wyld's. I destroy, like the tornado, the forest fire; cutting away injustice like rotted flesh, to save the whole. I will strike and kill as I was created to do, as my steel and circuit form was _made_ to do, in the name of Wyrm-who-was, the Balancer.

For as I was once, I am again; spirit and earthly-born, child of Grandfather Thunder. And I will protect the world that nurtures me, and the pack that soars with me.

I am Airwolf.

_Catch me._

_Try to catch me._

-----------

Translations and info: Brief mentions have been made of events in most first season Airwolf episodes, plus "Sweet Britches".

_Centipede_ - the Wyrm; a supernatural force bent on corruption and destruction.

_Chantry_ - group of mages.

_Chi'n ta_ - Lightning People, mages. Used by Kuei-jin (eastern vampires) and some hengeyokai who have alliances with Kuei-jin.

_Gaki_ - Japanese Kuei-jin.

_Garou_ - werewolves.

_Hakken_ - a tribe of Japanese Garou.

_Hengeyokai_ - eastern shape-shifters.

_Khan_ - were-tigers.

_Kuei_ - ghosts.

_Joss_ - luck, the favor of the universe.

_Namebreakers_ - a more common hengeyokai term for mages.

_Naru-kami_ - "Grandfather Thunder"; a totem of both Hakken and Shadow Lord Garou.

_P'o_ - lower soul.

_Sentai_ - team of hengeyokai.

_Shadow Lords_ - a werewolf tribe prone to scheming, double-dealing, and bravery.

_Silver Fangs_ - an aristocratic werewolf tribe; prone to madness.

_Sleeper_ - Mage term for an unawakened (non-mage) human.

_Uktena_ - a werewolf tribe frequently encountered in North America, with many Native American members.

_Wan Kuei_ - an older term for Kuei-jin.

_War of Shame_ - when the hengeyokai turned on each other, about ten thousand years ago, leading to the destruction of an entire race.

_Weaver_ - force of order.

_Wyld_ - force of creation.

_Yomi_ - the Eastern hells.


End file.
